The vampires search for.., p.7
The Vampire's Search For A Queen, page 7
I hesitate to open the door. My hand is trembling. I know I shouldn’t. I know I myself would be pissed if I welcomed someone into my home, and then caught them rummaging through my personal stuff, the same stuff that I want to keep hidden away from the rest of the world.
But he’s not here, is he? The devil on my shoulder asks softly, whispering into my ear.
Yes, that is true. He isn’t here. He probably won’t be here for hours. I could just go inside, take a quick look, provided the door is unlocked, of course, and I could be out shortly. I would just have to make sure not to touch anything or move it, otherwise, he will notice. People like that notice everything.
People like that…like what? I realize that I know so little about him. All I know is what everyone else knows. This is the persona he himself has released into the world. But I know there must be more to who he is. That is the person I want to get to know.
Why?
That devil isn’t making a whole lot of sense. First, it’s urging me to go inside and discover all I can about this man, and now, when I’m wondering about him, that same devil is asking me why I am doing all this. I swear, the devil must be a woman. He has no idea what he wants, and neither do I.
Determined enough, I grab the doorknob and turn it, pushing the door open. My heart is beating like mad with fear, with excitement, with sheer curiosity. The end result is a strange mixture that is making me both stay put and urging me to turn around while I’m still relatively safe here. In this room, I might find out something that might change everything.
Still, despite this fear, I take a bold step inside, and instantly, the smell of smoky rich, aged Scotch hits my nostrils. There is something else in there, the fragrance of old books and worn-out leather. Immediately, a sense of calm washes over me, as if I’ve crossed over into some unknown territory, and even before I knew anything about it, my first instincts are telling me it’s OK. I can relax. There is no danger here.
But I can’t trust that feeling, just like I can’t trust Hannibal. I feel like I can’t trust any vampire, any more than I can trust any man. Life taught me that you can only rely on yourself. Everyone else can disappoint you, even after they’ve assured you that they have your best interests at heart. People lie. People and vampires alike. So, it’s best to always keep looking behind your shoulder when dealing with both.
The first place I walk over to is his desk. I press my fingers against the hard, polished surface. It looks deeply worn-out, as if someone has been sitting at it for decades, lovingly writing, reading, pouring out his mind over it. I can imagine Hannibal doing exactly that.
I shake my head at myself. I still think this is wrong. But I’m already inside. Now, there would be no force on earth to drag me out of this place.
I walk around his desk, and sit in his chair, which squeaks lightly under the weight of my body. I feel a soft indentation where my whole self sinks into. The thought of his body having made that makes me feel… giddy.
I immediately frown as soon as my brain comes up with that word. I shouldn’t feel giddy about anyone, especially not him.
I get up from the chair, still frowning at myself. I pace about the room slowly, feeling like I’m in some sacred place, which I should not disturb with my presence. I turn around and glance at the door, half-expecting to see Hannibal standing there.
Don’t be silly, the devil says. He’s still at work, and that’s where he will be all day. He’s a workaholic. You don’t think that he’ll just appear out of nowhere to spend time with you?
The tone inside my mind is mocking.
“I really have to stop having conversations with myself,” I say out loud, just so I can balance everything out.
The bookshelf is the next thing that captures my attention. I walk over to it, stepping over the frayed, oriental carpet, which has a faded circle right in the middle, as if someone intentionally kept rubbing their feet there over and over again. Despite looking shabby, it does add to the general antique feel of the whole room. Everything seems old and worn, yet I doubt that there was any way in which this room could be more suited to the man using it.
I stand in front of the bookshelf, eyeing the titles. They are mostly classics, but some are rather obscure authors and book titles which I’ve never heard of, although I like to pride myself on having read many books. Then, I notice that there are other things on the bookshelf. I see a porcelain box with a lid. I open it, peering inside, only to find an unused candle. I inhale and the sweet scent of vanilla pierces through my nostrils. I make sure to put it back exactly where it was, with the flowers pointing towards the middle of the room.
All the way in the corner, there is a framed photograph of a woman. Her smile is mesmerizing. Her long, honey-colored hair is falling down both her shoulders, all the way down her red dress. Her eyes are wide, demanding focus even though it is only a photograph, and yet I feel like I can’t look away. She is unlike any other woman I’ve ever seen before.
Instantly, the grip of the green-eyed monster clenches at me, and I can’t deny its existence, no matter how much I’d like to. I take the frame in my hands, touching it only with the tips of my fingers, as if it would burn me if I touched it properly. I bring it closer to my field of vision, and upon closer inspection, the woman looks even more bewitching, as if there is some magic in those eyes, in that smile, in that porcelain white skin.
I wonder who she is.
Isn’t it obvious?
I frown. It probably is. I want to consider other options as well. A sister, maybe? She can’t be his daughter? Maybe… she could? How old are vampires, anyway? He could be ancient.
It’s all a tangle of thoughts, as I try to come up with an alternative explanation as to who this woman might be, but there is only one. She has to be someone important, otherwise, why would he have her photo framed in his study? She must be the woman he loves… or loved, my mind silently adds.
No, if he loved her, she would be in a drawer somewhere. She is out, visible. Which must mean that he wants to keep looking at her.
I know I shouldn’t care. But I can’t stop looking at her, wondering what she meant to him, who she was to him. We all suffered heartbreak in our lives. That is inescapable. But the worst part is when you can’t get over it, when this heartbreak from the past follows you into the present, determining your future. That is when you are stuck in a vicious cycle, unable to find your way out.
I stare at the smiling woman, wondering if that is what she is to Hannibal, a vicious cycle that has him stuck, spinning around and around, until the end of his days.
Suddenly, I hear the door unlock, and that sound makes me jerk unexpectedly. Instantly, I drop the frame down to the ground, onto the floorboards, where the carpet did not reach. The frame breaks, shattering the glass all around my bare feet. I dare not move, out of fear of stepping onto the broken glass, so I remain put, knowing that Hannibal will come here at any moment.
If that’s him… At this point, a part of me almost wishes that whoever unlocked the door wasn’t him, but rather the same person who tried to break in last night. I would be able to handle myself with an enemy. I would kick his ass, or at least try to. But if it’s Hannibal… that would mean that he caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I was snooping. And on top of that, I broke his frame.
I lift my gaze towards the door. Only now do I realize that he’s standing there, staring at me, impassively.
I can’t read him at all, and that is the most frightening thing. I don’t know how angry he is with me. I want him to speak, but he doesn’t. He is just staring me down in disbelief, as if I disappointed him beyond belief.
“I…” I say instead of him, but that is all I manage.
His gaze traverses the distance between my eyes, down to my bare feet and the shattered glass. Then, our eyes lock again.
“What have you done?” he finally asks, and all I can think is that I’m wondering this same thing myself.
Chapter Twelve
Hannibal
“I’m sorry, I…” she says, with a stutter. “I didn’t mean to.”
I frown at her words. I didn’t specifically tell her that my study was off limits, but I believed that was implied. My study and my bedroom, although she had already been there. That left my study as the only place where I could keep a part of myself still secret from the world, and especially from her. Now, I didn’t have that either. I feel naked and vulnerable, something I hate more than anything else.
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to snoop in someone’s home?” I snarl at her, only then realizing that my question was totally inappropriate.
Her parents died. She was thrown from foster home to foster home. I know this. I’ve done a deep background check on her. I should know better than to throw someone’s past in their face, especially when it’s something they had absolutely no control over. I can immediately tell that she was offended by my comment.
“Actually, they didn’t,” she snarls back at me. “They died before they could teach me things I could need in my adult life, so I had to learn them on my own,” her voice is trembling as she’s speaking. I can see pain through that veil of hurt and offence, but I’m blinded by my own rage at her invasion of my privacy.
“It’s common sense,” I tell her. “You shouldn’t go into someone’s private rooms. On top of that, you shouldn’t break things either.”
“I’ll clean it up,” she adds apologetically.
“No,” I snarl, my brows knitting in displeasure. “You’ve done enough. Just… go.”
Her lower lip trembles a little, but she doesn’t look away, just to show me that she will do as I request, with that little bit of dignity left and intact. I can see she is barefoot. I could easily go over there, scoop her up and make sure that she doesn’t hurt herself on the broken glass. But I don’t do that.
She finally looks down, and slowly walks around the shards. As she’s walking towards me, I expect to see bloody footprints, but she managed to evade them successfully. There is even a glimmer of victory in the way she is staring me down. Then, she stops right in front of me in the doorway.
“Can you move?” she asks in a demanding tone.
I don’t do as she tells me. A part of me wants to grab her by the shoulders, press her against the wall and take her again, until she learns her lesson not to argue with me. But something is preventing me from doing that. I feel like that would mean I surrendered to her, instead of it being the other way around.
I take a step back, allowing her to pass. She does that slowly, and a moment later, I hear the sound of her slamming the door to her room. I remain there for a few moments longer, not really sure what to do. Nothing seems the right course of action.
I try to remind myself that it’s just a stupid frame. She didn’t break anything of value. But there is more to this. She was in my study, uninvited. She wanted to find out more about me. She could have asked. She should have asked, not go behind my back, snooping around my study.
The thought makes me mad, but somewhere deep down, I can understand. Only… I don’t want to understand. This meant that she was doing something I wasn’t expecting her to do, which means that I might not have total control over the situation, as I’m used to.
I look down at the glass and decide that I won’t be cleaning that up now. I go back to the office and lock myself up for the rest of the afternoon, canceling all my appointments. My secretary seems shocked, but she knows better than to ask. I consider going back home for dinner, but I am still torn between what to do. I don’t want to acquiesce. I don’t want her to think that she won, that I’m just going to let this one go.
I’m wondering… is it the fact that she’s seen Xeena? Now I will have to explain why I’m still keeping a framed photo of another woman in my study. I never had to explain that to anyone. No woman has ever spent the night here. I always took them to my other apartment, which I have just for that purpose.
Irina is the first woman, since Xeena, who was invited into my home. As if that alone wasn’t enough, Irina had to go and dig for more where I didn’t want her to.
Suddenly, a thought pops to mind. She was just doing what I already did. She had no means of doing a full background check on me, so she did the next best thing. I have to admit that I might have done the same thing if I were her. Hell, I probably would have done that very same thing.
But I can’t swallow my pride.
After work, I head to the club. On the way there, I pick up my phone and call Plyn, who answers immediately.
“Everything alright at the apartment?” I ask.
“No suspicious business,” he assures me.
“Did the security guys come to take a look?”
“Yes, they just left an hour ago,” he replies. “Apparently, the code was input, but the software was disconnected from the main frame for ten seconds, during which someone managed to unlock the door.”
“What the fuck?” I growl. “How is that possible?”
“They said they didn’t know,” I hear him say. “They’ve never had anything like that happen before.”
“Fucking hell,” I can’t calm down, knowing that this might happen again. “I want you to bring in more people. I want the apartment guarded 24/7. If someone as much as farts in the elevator and the smell climbs up to my floor, I want to know about it. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” he assures me.
“Alright,” I nod. “I’m heading to the club for a nightcap. I’ll return in about an hour.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he says, after which I hang up the phone, not feeling as relieved as I thought I would be.
I pocket my phone, looking out of the car window. The line in front of the club is huge, as always. The bouncers are doing a good job separating the rotten apples from the bunch. I have no worries about that. But I never enter through the main door. There is always someone who wants to greet you, meet you. I’m usually not in the mood for that, and I’m especially not in the mood for that now.
I park the car a bit down the street and get out, heading for the small back alley I usually go through when going to the back entrance. There are never any people there, only trash cans and alley cats. Tonight is no different.
I stop somewhere in the middle, reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes. I promised myself I’ll quit, but that has to be a perfect moment. Otherwise, I can’t do it. This is the least perfect moment, so fuck it.
I take out one and position it loosely between my lips. I flick my lighter on, and the moment I take my first puff, someone punches me on the back of the neck. I immediately drop to the ground, spitting my cigarette out, propping myself up with my hands. I try to inhale deeply, but the moment I do that, sharp pain sears through my entire body, threatening to split it in two.
That is when a second blow comes straight at me. Someone’s foot lunges right into the side of my belly and I roll down onto the ground, flat like a pancake. I lift my gaze, but I can’t see anything from the pain. The street lamps are hitting the person in the back, leaving his entire silhouette dark, unrecognizable. Whoever this is, is wearing a hoodie which is covering not only his head but also most of his face.
I see he’s getting ready to kick me again, so I manage to gather all my leftover strength, grabbing him by the foot before it lands on my stomach. I twist his foot so hard that I hear it crack.
“Aargh!” I hear the silhouette scream in agony.
“Motherfucker…” I get up, spitting blood. The pain is still excruciating, but I know that if I remain lying on the ground, I’m a dead man.
I am leaning to one side, but I’m slowly regaining balance, while the other guy has a twisted ankle. Maybe it’s even broken. I can’t tell. But from the way he’s unwilling to put any weight on it, I can tell it fucking hurts.
He comes at me again, relentless, and I see that I will have to hurt him seriously. This seems like a perfect end to a perfect day, to be honest. Whoever he is, he picked the wrong day to mess with me. I am so filled with rage that I could explode.
I grab him by the neck, lowering him to my side. He tries to punch me again, but I twist his hand, making him drop down to his knees, lifting his elbow high up into the air. I know if I lift any more, his shoulder will break beyond any possibility of repair. I know it, and it seems that he knows it as well.
“Who sent you?” I growl right into his ear.
“Fuck… you…” he spits out, saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth.
I sigh. “I just love it when you guys play hard to get.”
I lift his elbow higher up in the air, and the guy screams.
“If I do this again, you know your shoulder will snap,” I remind him. “You’ll be useless to whoever sent you after me. Now, if you give me a name, I’ll let you live. I might even let you go relatively unharmed.”
This comment surprises even me. I wasn’t expecting such generosity of myself, at a moment when I’m boiling on the inside. But if I said it, I won’t go back on my word. Everyone knows this.
“I… can’t…” he spits through clenched teeth. “He’ll kill me…”
“And you think I won’t?” I snarl, close to his ear.
Then, my lack of focus almost costs me my life. The guy picks up a nearby rock and slams it against my temple. An incredible amount of pain clouds my vision, and for a moment, everything gets dark. I hear someone’s voice in the distance, then the sound of running footsteps.
“Boss?” I hear Mortar call out to me. “Boss, open your eyes…”
I manage to do that barely, feeling a copper tang in my mouth. I can barely blink. My right eye feels like someone pressed a lit up cigarette on it, and is keeping it there for sheer fun. I reach there with my fingers. It’s all wet. Bloody, I presume.
“We’ll get him, boss,” I hear him say. “Let’s get you inside.”
“No,” I shake my head. “Get me home.”
Mortar doesn’t say anything to that. He just nods, and I can barely see any of them. He helps me up, then takes me to the car. A few moments later, I feel the gentle rocking of the road underneath the car tires as Mortar drives me back home.
